


might not say it back; ATEEZ

by arrowthroughtheheart



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BirthStones, Child Neglect, Developing Friendships, Domestic Fluff, Engagement, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Kim Hongjoong-centric, M/M, Mentions of Aromantic Hongjoong, Multi, Soft Kim Hongjoong, aka they have normal jobs, angsty woosansang but through the eyes of dad hongjoong: the fic, but not rlly explicitly stated, dadjoong, hongjoong is a jewelry designer, hongjoong loves his kids, mentions of terminal illnesses, model!san, no beta we die like men, no beta we die like. . . you'll see when u read it, promise rings, san really likes makeup, unhealthy workaholic hongjoong, why isnt that a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:42:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26888326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrowthroughtheheart/pseuds/arrowthroughtheheart
Summary: San, who was looking intently at his phone, sent him a short look. It seemed like his intent was to check on Hongjoong’s sleeping form, since, after seeing how the older man was wide awake, San’s face morphed into a smile Hongjoong grew accustomed to. “You’re awake!” he chirped, hurrying to get to the light switch, and artificial lighting poured into the room, a little too much for Hongjoong to be comfortable with. Hongjoong shied away from the light like a hurt animal, though he schooled his expression soon after, noticing how San hurried back to his side, his feet shuffling on the ground. Only then did Hongjoong notice the fluffy socks San was donning.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Choi San/Jeong Yunho/Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang/Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa/Song Mingi, Choi Jongho/Kim Hongjoong, Choi San/Everyone, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Choi San/Kim Hongjoong, Jeong Yunho/Kim Hongjoong, Jung Wooyoung/Kim Hongjoong, Kang Yeosang/Kim Hongjoong, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa, Kim Hongjoong/Song Mingi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	might not say it back; ATEEZ

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i'm back after a long while of not dropping any type of content simply because i have watched banana fish, the untamed, and given back to back and my dreams decided; oh - how fun is it if you make everyone go through the same pain you do!, and gave me this dream.  
> so sorry for always hurting either san or hongjoong, they're my comfort kpop boys. i love them.  
> disclaimer: i'm in no way shape or form wishing that these things happen in real life to anyone, this was made purely for fiction and entertainment - though there's little entertainment here since i almost cried writing it but hey! here's to the ones who also enjoys crying as a hobby :D

Hongjoong curses himself from time to time. For not knowing when exactly it happened. For letting someone as precious as their irreplaceable Choi San slip through their fingers exactly when they need him the most. 

They’d always need San, technically speaking - but still.

How did he ignore all the signs?

To be fair--but Hongjoong doesn’t feel like being fair towards himself, no, not after what happened--Hongjoong’s own office hours are a mess. A total mess, since the renowned employee in his department was exposed in the previous two months as a marriage swindler who decided to have a nine-to-five job on the side purely because he needed perfect coverage. Which indeed explained how lazy this man was around the office, and even then, his charms made enough people like him for him to be employee-of-the-month.

It’s not like he matters. We’re talking about Choi San, here.

Hongjoong met San through a friend of a friend, who, in hindsight, made them a big gigantic group of friends. Hongjoong definitely thought that he would much rather _not_ be involved in seemingly emotional friendship bonds, especially when it involves a group this large - but he finds peace in his new bundle of buddies. It’s heartwarming, kinda, to check in to the group chat after a long day and still find evidence of your friends’ bickering that he would, in other words, live without seeing; if only his friends don’t absolutely enjoy fighting in the group chat.

It’s usually Yeosang and Wooyoung. It’ll be against each other, or against everyone else. Choi San would have to swoop in and either dim out the fire or pour gasoline all over the matter, and knowing how it’s San, he usually picks the latter wholeheartedly for shits and giggles. 

Hongjoong’s heart clenches painfully at the thought. 

Remembering both Yeosang and Wooyoung brought Hongjoong to a time of his life where San was absolutely destroyed, hidden in his room, under his blanket, curled like a cat. He refused to come out of the room even when Seonghwa--who lived a few blocks away from San’s apartment but was dubbed the team’s no.1 Dad--came to visit him and left him either soup or cookies, which caused an uproar in the group chat, courtesy of very much dumb Yeosang and Wooyoung.

Hongjoong had to take Seonghwa and visit none other than Choi San a few weeks after the two idiots begged them to see what was up with their _best friend,_ and that was the day Hongjoong figured out that San had a complicated sort of fondness towards none other than their two idiots who tumble all over themselves every time they breathe. It was too much for San to take by himself, surely, since Hongjoong remembered slightly how hard it is to struggle from the suffocating feeling of having crushes, shortly before he lost all sorts of feelings regarding love. Both Seonghwa and Hongjoong had to coax San to communicate how bad he was feeling, at the time, and it led to hours of the younger crying in between the two of them until he fell asleep. 

While San was dead asleep, Hongjoong heard him mumble out something about his parents, and the older felt his heart clench for the first time since he’s known San. 

Hongjoong didn’t realize back then that he would experience more of those, a few times ahead.

He does feel slightly guilty for not further inquiring San to communicate with him about how his feelings are, correlating to both Yeosang and Wooyoung, but after that day their intimacy grew rapidly and Hongjoong didn’t feel the need to pry, everytime the eight of them crash in either one’s messily cluttered rented housing. It could definitely just be both Yeosang and Wooyoung, being the slightly dense and shameless flirts they are--and how they shown how much they miss San in his absence--and San reciprocating casually without combusting, but it could also definitely be the way the kids mend things in their own way. It could even be a happy ending. But Hongjoong didn’t ask.

Which was a good decision on his part, since Hongjoong has always been taught by his parents to ‘be there for your friends, but never pry too much beyond the matter of what they feel comfortable with telling you.’ And it wasn’t that much of a big deal for Hongjoong, you know, not knowing who dates who and plans to marry who. He’s never been too invested in those things. Haven’t been interested in a fairly long time, to add to that.

But there were probably other things he should’ve asked. 

Choi San delved into makeup long before Hongjoong got introduced to him. There was even this one time where Mingi invited all of them over to his and Yunho’s five-bedroom house while the rest of their housemates are away for days on end, and Hongjoong remembers crystal clear how it was possibly, the first time he was introduced to how full-of-secrets Choi San can be. It was long before San opened up to him. But it still left a dent in Hongjoong’s natural nurturer heart. 

The situation opened with Mingi opening the door, already wearing a customer service smile on his face though it slowly morphed into a genuine one when his eyes landed on both Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Yunho passed by him in the background, carrying a large box of _things,_ greeting them briefly while mentioning how messy their housemates are and it’d be a shame that their new friends had to see it. 

“You can sit down if you want, _hyung,”_ Mingi bumped his shoulder into Hongjoong’s, who was still standing behind the living room’s sheer curtain. Seonghwa was somewhere around the region, already roaming away and beyond, probably, since he’s known the kids for longer than Hongjoong has. “No, actually, I really need to shit,” Hongjoong’s loosened mouth blabbered, and he unknowingly invited a chuckle out of Mingi. Hongjoong looked at the much taller man in surprise, since Mingi never really gave a friendly impression before, all frowned eyebrows and pursed lips. With his height as a cherry on top, Hongjoong always thought the younger was the definition of intimidating. 

“Okay,” Mingi calmed himself down, circling a hand over Hongjoong’s shoulder while his other hand rose up slightly to point at the direction. “The bathroom’s right there, the room next to the one which door is opened. Can’t miss it. But try not getting too stressed while shitting, your next door neighbor is kinda loud.”

Which really brought out Hongjoong’s inner curious cat, because the sentence is so vague yet so. . . inclusive, in a way, and Hongjoong tilts his head at the thought of being considered a friend by people this _interesting._ But he wouldn’t explore that low-confidence right now. Not when the door to a room is opened and something akin to holy lighting comes from behind the door. 

Hongjoong realized that there’s a high chance it might just be the rays of sun, but hey. What harm was there in trying?

Especially when an earnest and genuine cackle radiated from the room, and Hongjoong finds little to no reason why he shouldn’t walk into the mess, quite literally.

That was when Yeosang’s mop of blonde hair tilted up from its previous laughing position, one of his palms holding Choi San’s front bangs up while his other hand propped the latter’s chin on top of his firm hold. “Oh,” Yeosang preened when he saw Hongjoong by the door, “it’s Hongjoong _hyung._ Hi!” he shook his head as he would his palm if he had any of them free. Wooyoung followed suit with his trademark tone-filled accent of speaking, though without looking back, to greet Hongjoong, too. “It’s Hongjoong _hyung?_ Woah, isn’t this kinda early? How’d you get out of work so fast, _hyung?”_

“I got a free pass out of work for the whole day since I haven’t returned home for three,” Hongjoong replied, realizing how much his words sound like an incomprehensible jumble of words. All three heads turned to him then, in various states of distress. Only then did Hongjoong fully take in what mess they were doing to San’s face, and the slightly horrifying makeup made San look even funnier, since he’s also wearing a concerned face while looking at Hongjoong intently.

Hongjoong laughed at this, but didn’t say anything about Wooyoung and Yeosang’s efforts. “Don’t worry,” he said instead, saddling up to stand beside Wooyoung, “I took a very long bath before I got here. Costs me Seonghwa almost breaking my door from waiting for too long, but I wouldn’t come here _unbathed,_ you know.”

“Huh?” Wooyoung replied, a little exaggerated, but Hongjoong soon understood that it’s both endearing and, actually _not_ exaggerated. That’s just how Wooyoung talks. “That’s not the problem, _hyung,_ did you even sleep?”

Hongjoong never thinks about sleeping, as little as he thinks about his own health, or keeping up a healthy relationship with his friends, and family, or as little as he thinks about. . . anything. He knows damn well he’s not a healthy workaholic, but was there ever any effort made to change that? No. He doesn’t want to. Why would he?

“N-no,” Hongjoong didn’t mean to stutter, but it happened since he was absolutely letting the thought simmer in his head for too long. Or it’s maybe because he hasn’t slept for so long. Or both. 

San stood up from being crowded by both Yeosang and Wooyoung, and only then do Hongjoong realize how much taller he is compared to everyone in the room - well, maybe Yeosang was exactly the same height, or not - even when his movements are light and calculated, and. . . pretty. Hongjoong really likes pretty things, which explains why he’s a raging and passionate jewelry designer in an absolutely busy and industrial company. But he never likes jewelry enough to want to marry them, or give them to someone he wants to marry. 

It’s the same thing with Choi San. 

He’s pretty. Hongjoong diverts his eyes to Wooyoung and Yeosang, too, noticing how the sun light grazes upon their skin softly like a mother’s longing touch, how the slightly brighter sun brings out the colours of their irises, and the slightly crooked smile in Yeosang’s lips complimented Wooyoung’s amazed look, as always. They’re all very pretty. 

Hongjoong’s head gears turned as fast as they were allowed to, rendering this very beautiful picture into that of an inspiration, thinking about several different ways he can translate his friends’ essence into his designs. He would have to come to that idea back one day, since right now he feels arms around him and he’s. . . oh, he’s falling onto the bed?

It took Hongjoong several blinks to realize he’s facing the ceiling, with Yeosang and Wooyoung looking down at him, amused. After blinking the fireflies in his eyes away--curse low blood pressure, Hongjoong thinks to himself--he turns around slightly to find a sitting Choi San, his chin propped up on Hongjoong’s shoulder, way too close of a proximity for someone Hongjoong met regularly for almost three weeks, courtesy to Seonghwa and Jongho. 

But it was strangely, okay.

It was definitely something about the wriggly eyeliner on San’s monolid, or the colourful splash of eyeshadow behind them--definitely from Yeosang, based on the colour palette and how his index finger still has some colourful glitter left--or maybe it was even the lipgloss-covered lips and how it’s smiling at him, very much amused. Hongjoong felt the need to sleep as soon as his head hits the bed.

But wouldn’t that be improper?

 _“Hyung,”_ San whined at that point, lifting himself up from his previous position to sit with his legs crossed, tapping both of his index fingers on Hongjoong’s side. He sounds a little too excited. For what, Hongjoong couldn't decide yet. “These two have been butchering up my face for a whole _hour,_ and I’m too tired to fix it myself,” San pointed at his two friends for blame, and Yeosang had the audacity to stick his tongue out to San’s direction, when he was the one who put piss yellow and green together on San’s eyelids. 

“Hm,” Hongjoong grumbled, “smack ‘em.”

Wooyoung let out a high-pitched laugh at this, followed with a: “Wait, I think he’s actually sleepy, San.”

Hongjoong caught San’s knowing nod a few seconds later, and found the latter looking down at him with a genuine smile this time. “Can I please put makeup on your face? I promise it’s nothing bad. I mean, unless you’re against putting makeup on your face, you know, I understand. But you have like, _the_ perfect eyes, and I’ve been itching to see how much better I can work on a perfect eye.”

The statement made Hongjoong frown noticeably, the motion pushing both San and himself to speak up in the same exact time. “Do what you want,” Hongjoong hums, outspeaking San’s nervous _“Hyung?”_ by an octave or so. 

Hongjoong really tried his best to keep his eyes open, thoughts like ‘Why does Choi San need a perfect eye to work on? His own eyes are beautiful in and of itself,’ and another one reprimanding himself for questioning other people’s self-esteem issues when he can’t even take care of his own--both of these thoughts swimming around his mind rent free. But however much the man tried to fight the slaughter of calmness and comforting strokes from San’s fluffy brushes, accompanied by Yeosang and Wooyoung’s subtle commentaries, now a lot more subdued than before, the tiring three days of craning his neck over a piece of textured paper catches up to him, and Hongjoong felt his eyelids grew heavy. 

He fell asleep with building guilt at the back of his throat, but not knowing what it was caused by, Hongjoong continued sleeping for an entire hour.

When he woke up with a jolt, Choi San’s back was facing him, a little slouched and ‘un-Choi San-like’ since Hongjoong never saw the younger man be in any type of other posture aside from his usual, back straight like a Prince one. He was slouched, his left hip bone protruding and was in obvious contact with Hongjoong’s right knee, but there’s a certain anxiety surrounding how tense he looked. The room was dark, not too dark that Hongjoong wasn’t able to see further than San, but darker than before. 

Hongjoong wondered if it’s because Yeosang and Wooyoung left the room. They always looked like they’re the ones bringing light with them, everywhere they go. Not to mention how ethereally good they looked when the natural sunlight poured themselves onto the surface of their skin. Angels should be ashamed, Hongjoong thought, scratching his left arm absentmindedly. 

San, who was looking intently at his phone, sent him a short look. It seemed like his intent was to check on Hongjoong’s sleeping form, since, after seeing how the older man was wide awake, San’s face morphed into a smile Hongjoong grew accustomed to. “You’re awake!” he chirped, hurrying to get to the light switch, and artificial lighting poured into the room, a little too much for Hongjoong to be comfortable with. Hongjoong shied away from the light like a hurt animal, though he schooled his expression soon after, noticing how San hurried back to his side, his feet shuffling on the ground. Only then did Hongjoong notice the fluffy socks San was donning. 

Seeing San’s face up close was a whole otherworldly experience for Hongjoong. He’s always been told how sensitive he is as a person, whether it be emotions or. . . other things. 

On the back of Hongjoong’s mind, he remembered how he praised Yeosang and Wooyoung’s looks when the sun was still shining, how much light altered their beauty to another level. He wants to say that about Choi San, too, but was instead focused on something else. 

Was San always this. . . hollow?

Or maybe it was the tone of the lamp's light. Maybe it was too cold for San’s natural skin colour. It made him look sick, almost like an escapist from a hospital he’s been kept in for years. Which is nonsense, since he looked fine a while ago. When Wooyoung and Yeosang were with him. Oh. That was it, huh?

“Why are you here with me? Where’s your f-” Hongjoong fixed himself before he was too late. He had been accepted into their circle of friends. Surely, it would be rude to refer to people as ‘your friends’, wouldn’t it? “Where’s Yeosang and Wooyoung? I thought you’d go with them.”

“Nah,” San chuckled, sounding amazingly light and airy even when Hongjoong saw something so explicitly different. “I’m not. . . feeling too good lately. They went out to get ice creams. It’s too cold for me.”

Hongjoong spared the younger man a glance.

“The ice cream?”

San looked back at him, the corner of his lips curving upwards. “No,” he replied, and Hongjoong started moving slowly to get himself up, “the atmosphere.”

It’s. . . summer.

Thinking about it that way, though, maybe San is actually sick. The kid was wearing a thick-looking turtle neck with obscure colours that, on anyone else, would look absolutely foolish. San fits it quite well, based on Hongjoong’s humble assessment - and even though he used to think that San had a weird and frantic fashion style, the more he sees it, the more Hongjoong thinks that San could just possibly be. . . sick. 

“Oh,” was all Hongjoong could muster, but he dared not to ask. Yet. 

San snorted at this, and this brought Hongjoong’s attention back to his face, which looked completely different than what he saw before. Yeosang and Wooyoung’s ‘hard work’ had been wiped clean and replaced with, what Hongjoong suspects is, San’s own style. “Sit here, _hyung._ You haven’t seen how I made you look yet, with you falling asleep midway.”

Hongjoong felt slightly guilty.

“Right, right,” Hongjoong responsed, falling in tune with how cheery San made him feel. He sounded like a good kid. Too good, in fact, that Hongjoong was beginning to be scared _for_ him. 

San made a little _ta-da_ noise, timed perfectly with the exact time Hongjoong laid eyes upon himself. The reflection on the mirror both looks like Hongjoong and. . . not. Pretty. Hongjoong likes seeing pretty things, as he had stated a few times ago, and for the first time in a long while, he may like looking at himself. 

Hongjoong made a splutter of noises trying to confirm how shocked he was of the transformation, and the reaction made San preen as if he was praised at least five times in that short few seconds. 

_How adorable._

Hongjoong debated on whether or not he should sign the adoption papers. 

“You sound like you like it,” San sing-songed, and Hongjoong schooled himself to at least say something comprehensible once again. “I actually really do. It’s. . .” Hongjoong tried to find the exact words for this new look, his brain simply short-circuiting when his eyes found the fading grey-ish to black pigment sitting on his pretty lids, “surprisingly very _me.”_

Hongjoong turned around on his seat, facing San’s beaming smile himself. He almost lost his eyesight. 

“I’m surprised you can understand me when I’m a spluttering mess. My co-workers barely understand me, most of the time. And I’ve been working with them for over five years, now,” the older huffed, standing up to extend his arm formally. San did not miss the teasing lilt on his handshake invitation, and humoured Hongjoong on the act instead. Hongjoong felt like he’s found a diamond mine. “Glad I could be of use, Kim Hongjoong, Sir,” San pursed his lips, the dimples resurfacing along with his smile, though the smile never left, technically. 

Seonghwa fetched them over for dinner not long after, and San drove Hongjoong outside as if they’ve known each other for years, both of his arms never leaving the older’s shoulders as he drove both him--and Seonghwa--to the kitchen. San never left either Hongjoong or Seonghwa’s side the entire night, even when he exchanged playful banters with Yeosang and Wooyoung, who, on Hongjoong’s further observation, were San’s closest friends. Hongjoong stopped wondering after he saw a split second of how dejected his dimpled friend looked at the ground, and reached his own conclusion.

He really should’ve asked, though. 

Should’ve asked about why he was so different all the time. How San looks most comfortable before he noticed Hongjoong waking up from sleep, and even when he was supposed to look most comfortable, he looks. . . tense. Ask him why he shivers when the slightest wind goes by them, even when it was summer. Ask him why he looks like he’s fooling everyone, even Yeosang and Wooyoung. Ask him about why he cries over his two love interests--who are also his bestfriends, coincidentally--even when it was clear as day for everyone else, and maybe for San himself, that they’re as much interested in him as he was in them.

“Jongho,” San said, once, drawing out the last character of Jongho’s name as long as he’s able to before he tumbles over, seemingly out of breath. No one questioned it then, but Hongjoong should’ve. Even after San’s head shoots back up with a teasing smile, which caused Jongho to look slightly embarrassed. “You sure you want this?”

“Why are you phrasing it like that? You’re just going to put makeup on my face,” Jongho huffed, leaning on the sofa for support. Hongjoong was at the corner of said sofa, his glasses dangling loosely on the bridge of his nose as he checked off the list of papers he had finished off of the surface of his opened laptop. He tsk-ed like a tired father, and San stopped himself from snorting. “You know damn well putting makeup on your face is not the _only_ thing you’re going to be doing tonight, Jongho,” Hongjoong sent the youngest among them a look that Jongho knows he can’t run away from.

 _“Hyung,”_ Jongho pouted evidently, and San tumbled out of the way dramatically to avoid the onslaught of forced adorableness. “He’s an old friend. It’s safe. _He’s_ safe. It’s. . . easy money. I just kinda really need it right now. It’s not like, a recurring thing, or whatever. He’s going to leave the country tomorrow, too, to college or something. Don’t you trust me?”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow to finally look at Jongho for real.

“I never said any of that,” he stated, and while Jongho looks like he’s not satisfied by the answer, Hongjoong left the younger hanging while he goes back to typing on his laptop. He had nothing against what Jongho plans to do, but he sure as hell. . . is worried. Kinda. Maybe. 

“But,” Jongho trailed off, catching one of San’s hands by the wrist, where the older was already making his way to Jongho’s eyebrows. “I wouldn’t do it for real if _hyung_ is against it.”

This took even San by surprise, and maybe everyone else would, too, if they weren’t too busy watching the morning news. Hongjoong’s eyebrow quirked upwards, amused and confused. 

“I never said I’m against your decisions. You’re a grown man, Jongho, who am I to say anything about what you want to do?” Hongjoong continued, abandoning his work for the moment. He didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, to be sure. “But you don’t _like_ it?” Jongho retaliated, and Hongjoong found himself unable to answer. 

“Well, yes, but no,” Hongjoong shrugged, running a hand through his hair. _No one said parenting was this hard._ San sent him a knowing look from behind Jongho’s expecting shoulder, tense as if waiting for an unavoidable dejection. “You’re a grown man, Jongho. If you’re sure this is what you want to do, and if you trust that this person won’t end your life, I mean,” Hongjoong lifts his shoulder non-threateningly, seeing how Jongho perks up if only a little bit from his peripheral vision, “I’ll trust you.”

Jongho gave Hongjoong a warm type of smile only parents with children could ever understand. And Hongjoong received it, though with a restless heart behind his so-called acceptance, with the same smile a parent would don on their face, seeing their children roam to the world freely. Hongjoong wishes he made a good enough choice, since he’s newly introduced to parenting. 

“Does this count as catfishing?” Wooyoung had asked when he approached the trio on Seonghwa’s couch--minus Seonghwa himself, who was seated on the floor beside Hongjoong’s legs, a bowl of cereal on his hand while he looked up at San’s graceful hands decorating Jongho’s face. “What do you mean?” Jongho mumbled, since San is a bit too focused to answer. “No, I mean like. . . since he’s never seen Jongho wear makeup before. And. . . you know what, actually? Ignore me. I’ll look for what catfishing means.” 

Wooyoung left the scene not sooner after he got in, and Yeosang came out of his room, looking fresh out of the bathroom. 

When his eyes landed on Jongho being half-finished, Yeosang chuckled, the voice deep and throaty from the very back of his throat before it skyrocketed into a higher tone and made him sound as if his voice was cracking by the second. “Ha,” Yeosang made a noise, and San looked up from Jongho’s face for the very first time. Hongjoong caught the interaction. 

“So Jongho’s finally doing it?” Yeosang continued, leaning on the sofa’s back with one of his hands like a bully. _As if Yeosang can actually bully anyone._

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, _hyung,_ I swear to God,” Jongho threatened the blonde with one of the sofa’s cushion, and San silenced him from moving to much. Which spelled out heaven for Yeosang, who was then not threatened to hold back on his spilling-beans session. “What do you mean, _finally?”_ Mingi piped in from the dinner table, in the middle of binge-finishing his long overdue Economics Project. 

“Song Mingi, do not get distracted - it’s literally _two_ minutes away from four PM, send that project in,” Seonghwa scolded the younger with a kick down his shin, and Mingi followed up with random clicking noises which made Wooyoung throw him a nasty joke. No one heard what it was about, but they all believed how nasty it was since Mingi cracked up laughing. Well. 

“What I meant with finally is that this offer for Choi Jongho has been placed since forever. By forever I meant ever since we got to college. So what I actually meant to say was, congratulations, Jongho, for growing enough balls to get paid fucki-” Yeosang was abruptly cut off by San, who detached himself from the tangle of his and Jongho’s limbs they were intertwined with previously to slip into a fit of coughing maniacally. Both Hongjoong and Seonghwa were a bit late in reacting, since Yeosang, who looked absolutely chill before this, went after San almost immediately, encircling his arms around the coughing man. Wooyoung joined in as if he'd done it before, and Hongjoong sent Seonghwa a worried glance before they stood up from the sofa. 

Some more frantic clicking from Mingi was all it took before he also, speeded over to Choi San’s side in the corner of their kitchen, finding out how messily the dimpled man was crying on Seonghwa and Yeosang’s apartment floor at the moment, hunched over as if he’s avoiding. . . something. It took Seonghwa one look at San’s sleeve he used to cover his mouth to know how dire the situation was.

It was tainted with blood.

His own blood, Hongjoong was sure, and apparently Seonghwa was also very sure, since he’s eyeing the trio on the floor with extreme caution. Mingi was obviously shaking beside the eldest two, and with a confused but darkened glare, Yunho left the scene with a quiet: “I’ll go get a mop.”

Hongjoong dared not to look at Jongho, so he kept to himself.

What the _fuck._

He was right. The first time he spent a day with Choi San and got to know him better as a friend, he was right. About most things, apparently. He was, sharing fleeting glances with both Yeosang and Wooyoung, always had been for almost years now if Hongjoong gathered the information correctly. He also was very sick. That was why he looked like that. That was why Hongjoong felt like something was off, with Choi San. 

And for how long did he not realize this?

“It used to only be irregular heartbeats,” Wooyoung explained while Yeosang is in the emergency room’s doctors’ office with San’s entire family. The hospital ringed in his ears as if it’s too quiet, and he could barely differentiate between the ringing and the eerie silence. There were not that many people around except for chatting nurses and doctors at this hour of the night, and Hongjoong wasn’t so sure who Wooyoung was talking to. “But then his condition got a lot worse, so fast. That’s why only last year _Sannie_ was still an active model, but after he starts coughing blood and having random heart-failing moments, his agency feared that people will mark them as unprofessional, though the sickness isn’t contagious,” Wooyoung played with the hem of San’s discarded jacket, “and no, it’s not. . . tuberculosis. At least, not that.”

“What is it then?” Mingi asked, and it’s one of the first few times Hongjoong heard him talk in that kind of tone. He still sounded like Mingi, of course. It’s his voice after all. But it felt. . . bland. And. . . not. . .

“They don’t know, either,” Wooyoung answered, and Hongjoong applauded him for not breaking down in tears. “His heart’s irregular beats led to some internal organ failure, and it’s from that. The blood-coughing, I mean. Some of the toxins in his body just won’t be secreted and the least his body can do is cough it all out. That’s why it doesn’t even. . . look like blood, most times. But if anyone else saw it they’d think it’s contagious, because, well, that’s how it mostly is.”

They don’t know what it is?

“He’s always been exceptionally weak, since he was younger,” Yeosang’s voice was all of a sudden heard through the ringing of the silent hospital, and Hongjoong realized rather belatedly that the man slipped out of the doctor’s office when no one was looking, and he was in the middle of closing the door quietly behind him. 

It was impressive, for Hongjoong. 

Surely not in the best way the word ‘impressive’ could be used, but it is still considered impressive, right? Hongjoong found himself in front of two giant pieces of pictures, comparing himself to the rather much more dire unlucky strike Choi San landed himself with. San never asked to live a life like this, Hongjoong had thought to himself while he silently scrolled through the litany of messages from his family he never got to answer, nor was he planning to. But it’s impressive- _-was-_ -because San never. . . complained.

There’s one thing Hongjoong hates in life more than anything, and that is when people - wrongly - put themselves as the standard of suffering. 

San isn’t. . . like that. 

And he still has so much more in store, despite being half-drained from the strength people his age usually are gifted with since he needed to cope with the pain, with his illness--and even through that. Hongjoong was; and still is, impressed. 

But by this point Hongjoong only had pieces of memories. Not even years later, when Hongjoong have finally come to terms with himself and how he can not control what he doesn’t know. He still doesn’t have enough supporting memories over this occasion in general. His brain kept short-circuiting, whether it be from worry or from his own low blood pressure built up over his never-ending overtime hours and how much he’s been staying over his friends’ house to help Jongho with his college materials and Seonghwa with his upcoming engagement. While he was at it, he also hung around Yeosang, who asked him something in private, and Hongjoong just can not refuse, since it’s sweet and helpful Yeosang; who sided by him numerous times before despite the lack of time they could use to bond. 

It’s also not that complicated, Yeosang’s requests. Hongjoong did it with pleasure, since it’s for his friends. His newly made friends, the ones he treasures more than anything, though he’d rather die than to say that out loud.

Jongho and Seonghwa would never let him hear the end of it, being the two who brought Hongjoong out of his unhealthy workaholic shell to first hang out with San and his two _boy_ friends, with Yunho and Mingi joining in late.

Which is why the only thing Hongjoong remembers throughout that day was. . . nothing. At least, until the very next day. Seonghwa’s face, very much concerned, though this friend of Hongjoong’s didn’t look any less tired than his own.

“I’ll stay with you,” Seonghwa debated, while Hongjoong pulled back from the side of San’s bed, frowning. “Hwa,” Hongjoong laughed, sounding as if the offer was far too ridiculous to even attempt being considered, “absolutely not. You’ve been here since yesterday. And Wooyoung’s about to be here soon, if you’re concerned that San would wake up shocked, not knowing who I am.”

Seonghwa’s face deflated even more.

“Hongjoong, you know that’s not what I meant,” he sat back down on his chair, though his coat is now fully on and one of his hands was wrapped around his case. Hongjoong shot him an ironically bitter smile, shoving Seonghwa away from the room. “I’m aware. It was a joke. Now shoo, your fiance’s been blowing out my phone. At least tell them you’re alright, for god’s sake. It’s so hard to reach you by phone, you know?” Hongjoong urged the older with a goading smile, but he’s almost a hundred percent sure Seonghwa wouldn’t be baited away from the problem.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa said again, this time more sternly. “You know he trusts you, right?” 

Hongjoong is usually not so passive-aggressive, but something about that entire situation did push some of his buttons. “Maybe I don’t know,” Hongjoong shrugged, lifting his shoulders playfully, though with a hint of bitterness on the tip of his squinted eyes, “it’s not like he took time out of his day to tell me that.”

Seonghwa’s forehead stopped frowning so much as Hongjoong softly closed the door on him, trying his best to be respectful over both Seonghwa and the rest of the hospital. 

When the door clicked, signifying that it was closed, Seonghwa spoke out, not knowing if Hongjoong was still close enough to hear him but was urged to say something either way: “Although it is justified, don’t be mad at him.”

Hongjoong didn’t know what was justified. He still felt like a nobody, to be honest, and it’s nothing new to him. Adjusting himself to the world around him and his environment has always been something harder for him to do, if compared to everything else, but maybe he’s the only one feeling that way. It was always these kinds of feelings that led him to shutting himself back out, and he was very much thrilled when he realized he hasn’t been feeling that way to these new friends, until this happened. Until he realized that at the hospital hallways, Wooyoung wasn’t talking to everyone. 

He was only talking to the ones who knew nothing.

And apparently, Hongjoong felt like he was rightfully, not told anything. 

It has only been what, a few years since he’s known them? And surely he needed to either rely on his own observation skills if he wasn’t daring enough to ask people questions. He did realize how sick San looked. He did. Was he supposed to ask? Was he wrong for wanting to know? Was he wrong for feeling betrayed for being one of the only ones who didn’t know?

Seonghwa looked surprised, too, though it didn’t take him long to recover, so maybe he knew beforehand that San had. . . something. Or maybe he was only slightly fazed because he’s Seonghwa, and the Seonghwa he knew since forever had never been shaken by anything for long. Mingi was also quite shaken. But aside from that. . . 

Why did Hongjoong even feel the need to be offended, anyway? If, let’s say, Yeosang and Wooyoung are used to handling San’s little--which is apparently not little, at all--illness, it would probably mean that San has been going through this for years, now. And even before he knew of Hongjoong. So even if Hongjoong is considered a trustworthy friend by San, which, God knows _why_ San would feel that way--maybe Seonghwa is wrong about this one thing--maybe the illness occurred to him long before he even felt the need to tell Hongjoong anything. And Hongjoong should understand that some terminal illnesses are far more tiring to explain than to fight through. Shouldn’t he just be happy that Choi San is alive and well, rather than dwelling on how alienated he felt when he saw his friend tumble over himself and cough blood on his other friend’s kitchen floor?

Hongjoong took a second to be stunned with himself.

“Is this trauma?” he asked himself aloud, looking around the sunlit room, bright and white like that one room San first instigated a friendship with him was. Is it considered trauma when, let’s say, someone you care for basically almost died in front of you? And you’re second guessing everything now because, ‘yay, they survived’ but you’re scared of fucking things up the second time? Did everyone else go through the same thing?

And like a gift from the heavens, his phone’s notification popped up, and Yunho’s name shocked him more than his ringer. It’s a missed call, seemingly only done so Hongjoong paid attention to his phone screen. A few other messages from Yunho popped up behind the missed-call-notification, and Hongjoong let his fingers skim through the messages.

 **_Jeong Yunho:_ ** _You good,_ hyung? _Is Seonghwa still with you?_

 **_Jeong Yunho:_ ** _Ah, nevermind. I called him and he said he went home._

 **_Jeong Yunho:_ ** _I came across a very hurried Wooyoung today, he said he’s coming right to you from his lecture._

 **_Jeong Yunho:_ ** Hyung, _please call Wooyoung. He wants to know what food you need._

**_(3) Missed Calls from Jeong Yunho._ **

Which is always fine and dandy to look at, only for Hongjoong to realize that he needed to answer either Yunho or Wooyoung quickly. Or both of them, if he’s in the mood to be virtuous and kind.

So he shot Yunho a quick ‘thanks, Yunho, I will!’ with a winky face as a companion because he knew Yunho liked the winky faces Hongjoong’s phone can make and left the room with the doors open to call Wooyoung outside. Hongjoong let his back lean against the windows across the room San was located at, and with a heavy sigh clicked Wooyoung’s contact name. It’s always hard to communicate through phone, since Hongjoong felt like his voice is a little too monotonous for phone calls and it could just imply that he’s not feeling good with the conversation. Luckily for him, Wooyoung pointed it out one time, and complimented how stable Hongjoong’s voice is--accompanied with the very heartwarming fact that Wooyoung can notice Hongjoong’s inner feelings just fine.

“Wooyoung?” Hongjoong muttered out as soon as the ringing stopped and Wooyoung’s voice greeted him from the other side. “Yunho wanted me to call you?”

 _“Ah, yeah, but like fifteen minutes ago. Sorry,_ hyung! _Are convenience store’s onigiri okay for you? For lunch, I mean. Or I’ll get something else for you, maybe?”_ Wooyoung asked with a soft chuckle, and Hongjoong’s eyebrows knit together in worry. “No, no, it’s okay, don’t tire yourself out. Just get to where you need to go, okay? Get here safely,” Hongjoong retaliated, his tone switching over slightly to one he usually use to scold the younger ones. “Pay attention to what’s in front of you, Jung Wooyoung, we don’t need you to get a head concussion.”

Hongjoong reprimanded himself for that line, though his worry subsided when he heard Wooyoung’s giggle through the line.

_“Okay, Dad, I understand. See you in a bit!”_

Hongjoong was about to complain about being called a Dad once again, as he used to do this entire time, but his tense shoulder felt a bit too tired all of a sudden, and he resigned to it with an: “Okay. See you, Wooyoung,” which also shocked the other line’s receiver, as Hongjoong heard a short and amused gasp before the call ended. 

Wooyoung sounded like he’s keeping up a happy facade, maybe, Hongjoong thought to himself, and then thought to himself further that he’s thinking to himself too much. Maybe he’ll start by talking to San. Maybe that’ll help?

Talking about San-

“Oh! It’s Hongjoong _hyung’s_ turn to look after me?”

Hongjoong definitely thought he was hallucinating for a while, since someone was looking down on him like a looming shadow from the door frame, with his IV stand on his other side. So Hongjoong stood there for a while longer, his phone shaking in his shaking fingers and his eyes rounded to show how much was going through his mind at the moment. 

Both Choi San and Kim Hongjoong opened their mouth at the same time, but once again, Hongjoong beats San’s mumble with his loud voice.

“Nurse-!”

San gradually got stable enough to get out of the hospital after that. His family insisted that he comes home with them to get him under their surveillance better, but he said he’ll stay with Wooyoung even when he’s too much of a burden for him. Wooyoung assured the family that San will never be too much of a burden, and, if Hongjoong heard it from Jongho who heard it correctly, when Wooyoung was asked about what his boyfriend thinks about San being so dependant on him, Wooyoung answered that said boyfriend is more than happy to help. 

It was cute, when San first met Jongho again outside the hospital. As cute as, let’s say, two little puppies interacting with each other. At least, according to Hongjoong. And Hongjoong is very aware that he’s wearing his ‘Very Much Biased no. 2 Dad’-goggles while saying this, but come on.

“Jongho,” San started out, a shy smile decorating his face. His cheeks had sunken even more throughout the weeks of his hospital-stay, and Hongjoong was very tempted on cooking for the younger for the entire month. “I’m so sorry I ruined your date-meet-fuck.”

. . .okay maybe not everything San said was absolutely adorable, but it’s the way he stood like a shy anime-girl twirling his (non-existent) long hair. And the way Jongho blushed profusely while shaking his head in response. “You ruined nothing,” Jongho diverged the conversation, waving his hand everywhere. Hongjoong swore he saw Yunho smirk before nudging Mingi by the side, and they laughed about something in private. “So you mean you still had your date-meet-fuck?” Yunho asked, and Jongho made sure to threaten them with his kicks now that San wasn’t seated on top of him asking him to stay still while he fills Jongho’s eyebrows in.

San made interested noises and Hongjoong paid close enough attention to catch Yeosang’s hands curling around the previous man on his hips below the table, and from how Seonghwa reacted--really without subtlety, this man--Wooyoung was doing the same thing from the other side of the table.

Hongjoong wanted to coo out loud from how soft the evening was going for them, and for a fleeting second, an ugly worm from the depths of his heart wriggled in and told him this won’t last for long.

And he believed it.

It was two weeks before the day Hongjoong dreads for the rest of his life. Yeosang asked to meet him at their old cafe’s abandoned parking lot in the evening, simply because he didn’t want it to be creepy and look shady as if they’re trading ‘goods’. Though this maybe is, goods. For him. For Yeosang. 

The sun was exceptionally bright that day, but it was weirdly calm and cold. 

Maybe it was because Yeosang wanted them to meet at a place quiet enough for them to interact without looking at their backs each second, afraid of the disturbance that their roommates would cause them. What Hongjoong didn’t realize was that Yeosang brought Wooyoung with him, the smaller young man looking anxious and restless as he looked around before Hongjoong arrived. There’s no telling what went on in his mind as Yeosang took him to the parking lot, since Wooyoung always had such an active imagination. 

“Ah!” Wooyoung exclaimed when he saw Hongjoong approach from the furthest gate the abandoned lot had. “Why didn’t you tell me we were meeting Hongjoong _hyung?”_ The youngest among them three continued, a pout decorating his lips as he ran towards their older friend with his arms opened wide. Hongjoong welcomed the hug with squinting eyes, since Wooyoung ran to him from the same direction the ray of sun was peeking through the highest points of the old building. But it was okay. It made it look like Hongjoong was smiling. 

“You were so busy this past month, _hyung,”_ Wooyoung protested, taking in one of Hongjoong’s glove-clad palm in his own. Hongjoong’s brain short-circuited from how much he forgot that Wooyoung is the most clingy of all of his friends and the fact that it’s been a whole month since he’s met them. “A month?” Hongjoong questioned out loud, and Wooyoung rolled his eyes harmlessly. 

“Here we go again,” Wooyoung cleared his throat, “did you even sleep? Did you follow a healthy routine? Huh? You sent us texts on the group chat every night and morning to eat and exercise and sleep healthy but do you do that yourself?”

Hongjoong cackled, though a little guiltily. Strangely, Yeosang looked guilty as well.

“Oh,” Wooyoung caught the shift in emotion, gripping Hongjoong’s hand even tighter. “You did this to him, Kang Yeosang? What did you make him do? Why would you push this workaholic past his breaking point-”

“Technically, Wooyoung, I only asked Hongjoong _hyung_ to meet us here since I want him to help us with ideas on how to propose to Choi San, but,” Yeosang stated, defensively at first--though defensive in Yeosang’s dictionary is no different than his usual emotionally stoic self--but then he softened at the second part of his self-explanation, “. . .but I really should’ve known the implications could make Hongjoong _hyung_ push himself past his breaking point for us. I’m so sorry, _hyung,_ I should’ve known better.”

Wooyoung huffs, but looked pleased either way. He very unsubtly took Yeosang’s hand in his other hand, without releasing his hold on Hongjoong. Hongjoong realized rather belatedly that Wooyoung was indeed, shaking, and he was looking for any sort of warmth like a baby penguin. It made him scrunch his nose to avoid laughing at the display of childlikeness. 

“So what did you make for an entire month, Kim Hongjoong?” Wooyoung asked, dropping the formalities for shits and giggles, but Hongjoong was way too excited to show them to care.

“Promise rings!” Hongjoong exclaimed, ignoring the way Wooyoung and Yeosang’s jaw dropped. “For the three of you. With your birthstones. You know, to spice things up. And since I purchased stones much bigger than it was necessary, I also made necklaces.”

Yeosang’s face looked most troubled, the guilt and genuine gratitude a mixture of emotions on his previously blank slate like canvas face. Wooyoung looked confused, too, but mostly from gratitude rather than guilt for making Hongjoong cram this entire work for a whole month. Even when Yeosang has little to no idea how long it usually takes jewelry workers to produce an entire piece, he still found his jaw dangling a little too wide to be unbothered. 

_“Hyung,_ that’s a lot, you really didn’t have to-” Yeosang started out, though it was cut off by Hongjoong, who insisted that it’s his pleasure to do such a thing. “Well, I mean he’s done it,” Wooyoung shrugged, but gathered another wave of determination sooner than expected. “We’ll pay you for this! Plus all the nights you’ve spent staying up to think about it!”

Hongjoong laughed wholeheartedly at this, noticing how the light laugh seemed to lift a heavy burden off his heart. Maybe because it was the first time he stopped hunching over a table for a while. It reminded him of those times he first met these kids. It’s odd, how long time has passed. “You really don’t have to. If you ever get married, you know, even in privacy, it’s an honour enough for me to see you three wear the things I made with my own hands.” 

“So that’s why you insisted on making me ask San vague questions about emeralds, huh?” Wooyoung looked over to Yeosang, who were inspecting the promise rings with close-to-teary eyes. Hongjoong saw Yeosang nod frantically from the corner of his eyes, and he diverted his own eyes to the gemstones. 

Emerald is very suitable, especially for Choi San. That’s what the young man reminded him of, when they first met. Something that looked like it was just special enough to be owned by everyone, and it looked as if its calming demeanor brings some kind of unity. It’s referred to as Stone of Successful Love for a reason, and Hongjoong hoped that someone between the three of them happened to be as much as a stone geek as he himself is to understand what he wished for them. Or maybe he could just say it. Maybe someday, when he’s facing all three of them together. 

Wooyoung’s birthstone is the topaz stone, one that both looked and acted the same way Jung Wooyoung does. Wooyoung, being brightly confident and lovable enough of himself so that everyone else who sees him loves him as much as he appreciates himself? Someday, he’ll learn to trust himself the way people around him trust him. Someday. 

And Yeosang’s birthstone is the moonstone, one that Hongjoong puts in each of the promise ring’s petal-designed corners. The splitting image of Kang Yeosang himself, if Hongjoong could say that without shame, since his two other significant others are always so vibrant and emotional with the way they handle things, and even while Yeosang himself is a very bright and self-indulgent, he has this certain knack of cooling the other two down when they’re caught in a rut caused by their own emotions. So compared to the other two stones, Yeosang is numb and muted, but as beautiful nonetheless, especially if anyone knows him beyond what he lets surface. 

Yeosang sniffled dramatically, and Wooyoung huffs out an amused screech-laughter, but a little subtler. “Thank you, _hyung._ We’ll give our firstborn to you, we promise,” the blonde continued, and Wooyoung made a move to whack him across the head. “We’re not going to make San give birth to anyone, you ass, he’s drained off of energy enough,” the youngest muttered, and Hongjoong cringed away, not needing to catch on the TMIs. He did, anyways. “You say that as if you’re not the world’s most bottom, bottom, Wooyoung,” Yeosang retorted, dodging out of the way from the head whacking this time.

Hongjoong met San the last time at his and Wooyoung’s shared apartment. 

Wooyoung was going out with Yeosang to some sort of central farmer’s market to pick up non-lactose milk for San, whose stomach was rendered unable to drink more lactose than necessary, but both Wooyoung and Yeosang were too worried to leave San on his own, and wasn’t energetic enough to bring San with them on the wheelchair. It was about five in the evening when Hongjoong got off of work and caught his eyes on the very noisy group chat - which was new at that point, since everyone was going on with their lives already. Yeosang was tempted on waiting for Seonghwa to come back from work, but Mingi argued saying how he was going to be finished a lot faster, and that Seonghwa needed to pick up his fiance instead. It was a fair point, but Mingi’s ‘finished a lot faster’ was at 9PM, and not only would the farmer’s market be closed at that point, San would not be happy that Mingi rushed a group project for _him._

Hongjoong sent a quick text that he’s absolutely free right then and there and Wooyoung greeted it with much gratitude and worry. 

**_Jung Wooyoung:_ ** _But you don’t have to work overtime, or anything, right_ hyung?

**_Kim Hongjoong_ **

_No, I’m free for real this time._

**_Choi San:_ ** _‘this time’? >:( _

**_Kang Yeosang:_ ** _Omg angel <3 _

**_Kim Hongjoong_ **

_. . ._

**_Song Mingi:_ ** _Hongjoong_ hyung _def has three favourite children I said what I said_

Hongjoong slid his phone back into his pocket with a lopsided smile on his face, and the feeling of his numb toe from walking through a thick layer of snow didn’t even register until he was knocking on Wooyoung and San’s shared apartment, which Yeosang opened in point one second with a fond look on his face.

“We really forced the old man over,” Yeosang chanted, wiping the pool of melting ice on top of Hongjoong’s hoodie. “I’m not that old,” Hongjoong rolled his eyes, pulling his scarf down to rub on his reddened nose before he heard a frantic rumble of footsteps from somewhere in the apartment with a followed cry of: “Choi San!”

It is none other than San, obviously, flinging across the room to engulf Hongjoong in a bear hug. Yeosang huffed a laugh behind his boyfriend, one of his arms holding Hongjoong’s back as he almost tumbled from the ferocity of San’s hug-attack. 

San smelt like cajuput oil and a hint of powder, and taking notes from how cold his skin’s surface felt on Hongjoong’s neck, he apparently just took a shower. Hongjoong hugged him back by reflex, but his next reflex was to untangle the hug as gently as he could to warn San about how he’s covered in melting ice from outside. “Ugh,” San pulled a face as he sidled up to Yeosang’s side instead, “you should take a bath too, _hyung.”_

Hongjoong gave the younger a sarcastic smile, noticing how quiet Yeosang had been the entire time. He caught the blonde’s eyes for a split second, and a tilted smile adorned his face like a plague. And then Hongjoong’s eyes flickered downwards, to their intertwined fingers. Their- ah.

Ah? 

Hongjoong gasped, which invited Yeosang to wiggle his eyebrows. “What a nice ring,” Hongjoong casually dropped, as if it’s not as obvious as the crack of dawn that he’s its forger. “I know, right,” San humoured him, as he always did. “It’s almost as if the maker is absolutely talented.”

Wooyoung cackled as he appeared from one of the rooms, a folded towel in hand. Right then and there, without warning, San planted a quick soft peck on top of Hongjoong’s exposed head, and the oldest flinched in shock, the sides of his mouth quirking in a weird direction. Yeosang was the one to burst out laughing first, followed by Wooyoung, who took the action into his own hands to wrap Hongjoong in a towel (and a hug) right after, unclear if it's because of San’s timid retreat after the motion or how close to tears Hongjoong was. 

“Yo, chill,” Hongjoong retorted, as if he’s not the happiest Dad in existence at the moment, “your boyfriends are right here, damn.”

San tilted his chin upwards from the comment, snorting like a kid. “However old I’ll be, you’ll still call me your son by mistake, so.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes harmlessly, tilting his head away to reach their bathroom. 

“I don’t call any of you my son by mistake, you know?” he chuckled to himself, closing the bathroom door while mumbling how stupid kids these days can be, not realizing how his words left three frozen statues in its stead, filled with too much serotonin to move from where they were left behind.

“I thought you don’t even like drinking milk that much,” Hongjoong commented when the television’s screen showed a bright and vibrant milk advertisement, both him and San settling down in front of the TV, on the couch. There’s a blanket left around San’s entire body, and he’s cooped up like a little caterpillar. “I don’t,” San shrugged, eating his jellies in peace, leaning over to Hongjoong’s side, “I like juice more.”

“Then why do your husbands feel the need to buy non-lactose milk for you?” Hongjoong continued, stealing a few of San’s jellies, perfectly aware how flustered he made the kid by this simple statement. “Mm,” San drawed out his hum, biting his bottom lip in a mixture of embarrassment and the need to laugh, “nut milk is good for me. I think. Is what the doctor said.”

“Nut milk-” Hongjoong intercepted, laughing at his own malfunctioning brain. 

“Wah,” San stood up from his previous position on Hongjoong’s side, pointing at the older as if he’s a genius, “we’re actually really compatible. I laughed at the same joke and Wooyoung had to explain it to Yeosang before he laughed at it with me. High five, _hyung.”_

Though confused, Hongjoong accepted the high five.

Hongjoong felt the ring hit his skin from the way it hugged San’s finger, and he let his eyes travel towards it. “Why did you help them?” San asked, as if noticing what went on Hongjoong’s mind before Hongjoong realized what he wanted to say himself. “Huh?” Hongjoong replied, intellectually.

San giggled, and only then did Hongjoong realize the pipes entangling themselves behind the young man, connecting from his nostrils all the way back to a machine settled behind him. San didn’t have it on when he first tackled Hongjoong. It made him look more. . . sick. Vulnerable. Hongjoong decided he hated seeing any of his friends this way.

“Why did you help them propose to me?”

Which was odd to ask. An entirely different question than Hongjoong initially prepared for when he came in through that door hoping to not be beaten to death by Choi San; who he hadn’t seen for about a whole month. He was prepared for more. . . intricate questions. Maybe even tear-jerking ones. Well, he had to wait. Maybe this question would lead to a tear-jerking moment.

“I. . . don’t know,” Hongjoong played with the frayed corner of San’s fluffy blanket, which invited the younger’s eyes to focus on his busy fingers. Hongjoong had painted one of his fingers prior to meeting Yeosang and Wooyoung, as a celebration of some sort, since he finished that month’s due of jewelry-forging. It had been a few days after that happened, and some of the polish had come off, and another part of it grew, but he didn’t pay it much attention. “Maybe I wanted to play a part in making my friends happy, for once.”

While he was dubbed the father of their group of friends, sometimes Hongjoong thought about how much he didn’t fit enough to play the part. Especially in times like this, where San smiled down at him from wherever he’s seated, his chin lifted slightly and his smile worn as proud as a peacock with its feathers. San felt like a true nurturer, and somehow, beneath all of that, Hongjoong told himself that _that_ was the reason why he needed to be looked after, too. 

“Understandable,” San voiced out, his eyes flickering to places Hongjoong didn’t feel the need to follow. The younger’s eyes are absolutely looking for something. Looking _at_ things, of private memories he shared with his two lovers, judging from how nostalgic and glassy his eyes grew as they roamed across the small but comfortable apartment. Hongjoong decided to pay attention to the newly-vacuumed sofas and the coffee table right across from where he sat, a few feet behind San himself--with a framed picture of the three of them laughing, printed in black and white, since Wooyoung liked it that way. They were at a park, if he saw it correctly. San was already on his wheelchair by then, so it was probably a national park, or something, since he wouldn’t need one to walk around the block.

“I want you to know why I never told them I love them, _hyung,”_ San spoke again after a while, and Hongjoong noticed he was leaning against the hand his promise ring was on, with the gemstones on the surface pressing against the side of his temple. The wording caught Hongjoong off-guard, because it sounded highly calculated and intelligent, as San always sounded, but also as if he knew something about Hongjoong even the older himself forgot.

“Because I _do_ trust you.”

Hongjoong gulped, some of his very awake memories fleeing back to the hospital where he shut the door on Seonghwa’s face. He never claimed to have a perfectly-fitted memory of the entire situation, since he did shut them off his brain to cope with it, but he remembered being passive-aggressive about something. “. . .okay,” Hongjoong responded at the time, noticing how a nod could be less than friendly for the situation at hand, since San was barely looking at him.

But all of a sudden, as if he was aiming to drop a bomb from the sky, San’s entire attention zoomed in on Hongjoong and he spelled it out, as slowly as a broken record: “Because I’m going to die.”

Hongjoong flinched, physically.

The bright and meticulously lit room grew dark from this sudden drop of emotion, and even the television’s flicker of lights couldn’t mend Hongjoong’s darkening eyes. A storm was definitely coming, something in the back of Hongjoong’s head rang out, and he believed it. 

San drew in a breath. “And I know it would’ve hurt much more if I died without being tied to them for life,” he quirked a smile once again, “but at least I’m the only one who would be hurt. What’s new with that? I’ve been hurt my entire life trying to stop loving people I’m not supposed to love.”

Hongjoong wanted to intercept, he really did. But his brain was failing him.

“Apparently I didn’t realize I’m surrounded by very nice, masochists,” San laughed again, the sound ringing far and wide as if Hongjoong’s ears refused to draw the sound in. “They were the ones who told me they loved me. And now they’re going to be more hurt when I leave. More than me, in fact, and have I told you how much this entire fucked up genetics have been hurting me? Ha, and here I thought I have a high pain tolerance,” San looked over to Hongjoong, the crease in his face softening very quickly.

The older was still there, physically, but maybe not mentally. Mentally he was left a long time ago when San first talked to him for more than a few sentences, and how he realized how much San looked sick for a young man his age. San knew that Hongjoong _knew_ and believed the chances of him being dead sooner than he would survive more than everyone else in their group of friends. Hongjoong was always the more realistic one. San leaned over to wipe the rolling tears down the stunned man’s face, his thumb lingering for a few quiet moments before he caught Hongjoong’s eyes focusing back to reality.

“I know this is asking for too much,” San felt his voice break, and Hongjoong’s nose immediately scrunched up as if he’s fighting back the tears. San didn’t tell him he’s already crying. “But please, don’t ever stop taking care of us. I know you barely have time for yourself and you should also work on that but we’ve grown too dependant on you to ever watch you doubt yourself,” the dimpled man’s fingers traveled to rest on Hongjoong’s shoulders, “and I’ll never be able to leave peacefully if you won’t stop stressing yourself out, _hyung.”_

“Then I’ll never _stop_ stressing myself out,” Hongjoong choked out, his voice thick and burdened as if he’s stopping himself from crying even more. The tip of his nose was red, and San released a breath with a sniffle. “I won’t let you leave, Choi San. You’re bound to this hell of earth until I said you’re not. Until we’ve showed you love enough,” Hongjoong scooted over to tackle the younger into a hug he’s never used to initiate. San’s irregular heartbeat drove Hongjoong further into his messily timed sobs and he choked himself in the process, cleaning his tear-streaked eyes while not letting go of San’s shoulders. 

Hongjoong can hear San preening. 

“I think you’ve all showed me love enough,” San huffs a hefty laugh, “It’s time for everyone else to get their portion, don’t you think?”

“No, not yet, not enough,” Hongjoong repeated like a petty kid asking for lollipop. He felt how pathetic it was for him to do so, and momentary embarrassment flushed through his face, but he didn’t care. Not when San’s arms are wrapped around his back and running through the knots of the back of his hair. It felt warm, though the younger man’s fingers are extremely cold to touch. 

“Sometimes I’m afraid you all love me too much,” San said again, “and I won’t be here long enough to say it back, to everyone.”

Time passed by like an indefinite loop while Hongjoong tried his best to calm down. When he wasn’t sniffling and sobbing as hard as he was a few moments ago, he obstinately said, his voice muffled in San’s sweater: “You will.”

San laughed at that.

Hongjoong and Yeosang walked back after San’s two husbands returned from--war, as Wooyoung dramatically stated as soon as he returned, taking a discreet picture of Hongjoong cuddling San with his face hidden--and Yeosang demanded that he walk Hongjoong all the way back home. “I can uber my way back home,” Yeosang said when Hongjoong reminded him that his apartment is all the way on the other side of Hongjoong’s own. 

“Thankyou, _hyung,”_ Yeosang broke the silence after they were shittalking openly about how much their side of town wasn’t treated so kindly by their local government. “For what?” Hongjoong frowned, kicking a cube of ice off of a trash can’s lid, proving his point on their previous conversation. “For acting like a parental figure. For us. For m-me,” Yeosang huffed, and Hongjoong’s head whipped upwards to look at the taller man. That’s the first time he’s ever heard Yeosang stutter. 

“I’ve never had it, you know,” Yeosang chuckled, playing with his gloved fingers, “parental love.”

Hongjoong heard his heart clench as he leaned over to pat Yeosang’s back gracefully, letting it linger for a while longer before he circled them around his shoulder. “I know,” Hongjoong answered, and Yeosang froze. Realizing how it might be misread, Hongjoong corrected himself. “I mean I know how it feels,” Hongjoong continued, and with a beat of silence, Yeosang relaxed. “I know how it feels to be neglected.”

Yeosang tilted his head, a pout decorating his lower lips. “You’re still pretty darn good at parenting, though,” he stated, and Hongjoong lift his shoulders playfully. “I won’t trust either of us as the judge of that,” Hongjoong cackled to himself while saying it, and Yeosang looked over to him with raised brows. It didn’t feel malicious and angry, as if intimidating Hongjoong to say it again. It just looked confused. Yeosang’s brows are very confused.

“Ah,” Yeosang huffed when he finally got the joke, and sent a sarcastic laugh Hongjoong’s way. Hongjoong silently reminded himself that this is what San meant when he said Yeosang needed jokes to be explained to him from time to time. San has slowly but surely become his unconscious narrative, and Hongjoong isn’t sure what to make of that. 

He was visiting Mingi when it happened. Since, you know, Mingi had been complaining all week about how Hongjoong has favourite kids and how he wasn’t a part of those. The group chat was busy in the morning, with Seonghwa telling everyone that he’s taking Yeosang, San and Wooyoung out for a coffee stroll at the park, somewhere close enough for San to be perfectly healthy enough for a walk. Mingi showed Hongjoong the private texts he exchanged with Seonghwa the other night, and how Park Seonghwa is now rich enough to have an ambulance on site if anything ever happens. Hongjoong tried chuckling at this, but then he met Mingi’s eyes and they both looked like they felt something was off. Mingi played it off by taking Hongjoong to their backyard to kick some soccer balls mindlessly, until Yunho came downstairs with a litany of papers, cringing from the sun.

 _“Hyung,”_ Yunho called out, and Mingi childishly stood in front of Hongjoong with his arms crossed. “Yunho,” Mingi chided, “Dad Seonghwa said it was _my_ turn to be with Dad Hongjoong.”

Yunho chuckled, fishing his phone out before he ducked away from the blinding sunlight. “Yeah, sure. You can help too, I guess. This one project is kinda related to Hongjoong hyun- uhm,” Yunho looked away from his phone’s screen as if it’s the plague, the way his face morphed was a nightmare in and of itself for the two other men around him. “You- uh- the- uh- they- c-check- check your. . . phone. . .” Yunho blabbered, his hands flailing here and there would hurry the two men on checking their phones.

Hongjoong whipped the gadget out of his pants’ pocket as soon as Seonghwa’s name popped up on his screen. His heart fell to his stomach.

“H-hello, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong greeted, hoping to whoever rules over God’s green earth that the trio and Seonghwa just found a very adorable cat cafe or something, very excited to tell everyone else. Or how they found a stranded dog and wanted to adopt them, which would explain why Yunho is shaking. Not. . . not anything bad. Please. 

_“J-joong,”_ Seonghwa sounds out of breath, accompanied by the far sounds of siren and the noise of wind zooming through Seonghwa’s speakers. There’s wailing in the background, the sound amplified but also numbed by the very familiar ambulance's siren that sounded like it’s furthering the grip on Hongjoong’s already fallen heart. _“Hongjoong. . .”_ Seonghwa repeated, the peak of his words twinged a sharp pain through Hongjoong’s stomach, and he tried his best to not tumble over in emptiness. Hollow. 

San’s face flashed through his brain, and Hongjoong kneeled over, unable to keep himself afloat after his brain brought him back to that coffee table in Wooyoung and San’s apartment. The picture frame. The black and white print. The rings on their fingers. 

And then back to San, shivering on his bed like a cat he just saved from a strong current of water, looking up at him as if he’s silently praying for help. 

“I’m afraid,” this San said to him, “I’m afraid I won’t be here long enough.”

Hongjoong noticed how there were muted sobs all around him. His phone slipped out of his hands, and Seonghwa’s caller ID was numbed by the shining sun reflecting off of its surface. The stark difference from the grass beneath them was vibrant, and Hongjoong found no power within himself when he was lifted by his arms away from the still ongoing call. Hongjoong found himself switching back and forward on who to call out to. He twisted his neck, looking at his phone on the ground while either Yunho or Mingi--or both--pulled him away from the back yard, shouting one last, loud, _“Choi San!”_ before he was dragged all the way to Yunho and Mingi’s car.

\--

Kim Hongjoong stood under the gigantic door frame of the memorial hall, Choi San’s name decorating most of the room inside and outside, and mourning people come and go as they please. Hongjoong hasn’t seen most of these people, but San’s family, weirdly enough, knew who he was, called out to him a few hours ago, and cried while confiding their tears with him. Why would they know who he is? Isn’t he unimportant?

The picture they chose was the one he took a long time ago, as in, probably five years ago, since he was still a young and healthy-looking boy at that. Hongjoong never understood why people do so. 

And the hour they were given to grief privately in front of his casket arrived like a looming corpse bride Hongjoong never intended to humour. He was on the furthest bench, trying to ignore his six other friends, crowding the sides of the casket that was half-opened for the world to see. Hongjoong hadn’t seen San, yet. He refused to. 

The talking people outside provided him with enough noise for him to not break down in tears, not as if he thought he still had some energy left. Seonghwa’s eyes flickered over to find his, and however hard Hongjoong tried to look away, he didn’t. Seonghwa extended a hand from the front of the hall, believing that Hongjoong would always take it. 

He didn’t.

Hongjoong walked out of the memorial hall, the same day they all thought he’d completely walk out of their life. But they were wrong. Hongjoong never planned to. He treasures them as much as he wants himself to believe. He treasures them a little bit too much, founding this much trust and love among each other was a diamond mine; Hongjoong believed. A bit too much, did he love them, that he’s sure that he would die if he experienced another heartbreak this way. He walked away from the memorial hall as he would with all of his problems. 

Seonghwa looked hurt, but he also looked understanding. It hurted Hongjoong even more, seeing Seonghwa that way. Dejected, familiar. As if Hongjoong wasn’t the only one who slipped away from his fingers even when he was that close to them. Hongjoong tumbled over himself when he was far enough from the memorial hall, letting the palm of his hands burn from the sun-exposed asphalt his knees and hands came in contact with. 

Wooyoung and Yeosang looked uninterested, too tired to live another day. Hongjoong shared the sentiment. Dear _God_ did he share their sentiment. But he can’t look like it. He can’t mourn with them and be messed up in the head for days, for weeks, months, and years. Now that San trusted him with the duty, he’s here to nurture them back into health. He’s. . . he’s here to. . .

Hongjoong dared a peak into the memorial hall. His own eyes were glassy and covered in a thin layer of tears, and his eyes caught Jongho, kneeling on both his knees on the furthest corner of the coffin. He’s not leaving, Hongjoong thought to himself, Jongho’s never leaving. He left Choi San enough when he was alive to not blame himself for not spending more time with the man, whether it be caused by San’s terminal illness which won’t allow him to sit or walk around for too long or by Jongho’s absolutely busy agenda since he’s graduating soon. Jongho’s not leaving. Hongjoong heard the youngest whisper it out loud, as if chanting a mantra. Jongho’s _never_ leaving. 

Seonghwa took Hongjoong’s right hand by his left, a calming gesture he’s done all over the years they grew up together, and Hongjoong caught a glimpse of his tears pooling on the corners of his cheekbones. Looking into Seonghwa’s eyes hurt more than Hongjoong dared imagine, accompanied by the knowledge that their oldest is holding back. 

He wished San was healthy enough to go to his wedding, Hongjoong nodded slowly, as if Seonghwa told him everything during their few seconds of eye contact. He gripped Seonghwa’s hands a little tighter, mustering the rest of his strength to do so, and Seonghwa bursted into tears. San would look absolutely dashing in a wedding suit, too, Hongjoong’s eyes flickered over to Yeosang and Wooyoung, whose hands are halfway inside the coffin’s satin interiors. _They would’ve looked happy._

Hongjoong was shaking, noticing how San’s fingers were gloved with a white, sheer, glove, and a glint of emerald stone caught his eyes. Hongjoong felt his eyes prickling with tears. 

The ring was worn over his glove, on one of his fingers on top. The ring finger on the other hand was decorated with a simpler gold band, and San had his fingers intertwined with each other. Hongjoong felt the air leave his lungs. Wooyoung and Yeosang’s arms were tangled with each other’s, looking as if they were holding back from reaching in and cradling San in a hug. 

Hongjoong took a big step back, his hands still gripping Seonghwa. 

The three birthstones Hongjoong had laid his eyes on, accentuated with each of their own beauty, had grown apart so much that they had to lay one down, back underground. Hongjoong saw the room back in Yunho and Mingi’s house, the way the sun shines into the room and how Yeosang and Wooyoung looked absolutely ethereal, back then. It was almost the same, now. Or maybe Hongjoong’s losing his mind. It was almost the same, since San was also nowhere to be found then, and was on his way to tackle Hongjoong down to the bed, a ploy he made to force the older into sleeping. It was almost the same, if only he was alive. 

If only the constant pain of prickling thorns weren’t so vibrant, and if only the vibrant pain would be the one Hongjoong felt when he sees how happy his friends are. The good type of pain. Not this.

Not the pain Hongjoong gets every time he remembered how the last time he hugged San, it smelled like cajuput and powder. The last time he hugged San, the younger boy was reduced to almost nothing but skin and bones. The last time he hugged San, he hadn’t seen him for over a month and San missed him as much as to tackle him into the hug, and left a soft shy kiss on Hongjoong’s head. 

He wouldn’t be seeing San for more than an entire month, this time, and Hongjoong finds it unfair that he’s not allowed to hug their Choi San anytime he wants to, anymore. 

It’d be lonely for him.

It’d be too hard for him.

Choi San was never a patient person, neither did he like being alone. Why did he die alone, then? 

The emerald stone was called the stone of Successful Love. Some of it was planted above Choi San’s name in his tombstone. 

It gives Hongjoong a cheeky glint whenever he comes to visit. 

Sometimes, on good days, Hongjoong would even sit down beside San and ask him how his day went. Sometimes, Hongjoong swore on his life-

 _-San answers._

**Author's Note:**

> come scream @/ me on my other social medias  
> @/levanteary on IG  
> @/levanteary on TikTok (where I'll be posting sumn related to this soon)  
> or just scream at me in the comments. i appreciate human communication. pls. i've been craving for a friend. if you've read my works often, tell me how much i improve, too! or un-improve. yk. if i go backwards.  
> ilyall stay safe mwa<3


End file.
